by Mindy Hayes
I hold up some cozy looking black flats and ask her what she thinks.
“Am I supposed to like those?” she asks.
“They kind of look like something you used to wear.”
“Okay. Whatever you think I should wear. I think you know.”
“Only if you like them, Mama.” I don’t want to make decisions for her just because I can. I want her to have a say.
She shrugs. “What do I like? Do I wear those?”
“Yes. Don’t they look comfortable?”
“Comfortable,” she tastes the word. “Yes. Very comfortable,” she mumbles.
“Okay. Good choice. Let’s buy them. Then we’ll go pick up Brooks from school. He’ll be getting out soon.”
I head for the cash register and am the next in line. When I look over shoulder to say something to her she’s gone. I spin around. “Ma?” The store isn’t that big. I can scan the entire store from where I’m standing, but I don’t see her. “Mama?” I ditch the line and search around racks and behind tables. She’s not in the store.
“Mama?” I call more frantically. I bolt out the door and an alarm fires off, but it doesn’t even register. I scour the outdoor outlet, left and right. “Mama!”
“Miss! Miss!” I turn to see the cashier racing toward me, her ponytail bobbing from side to side. “You have to pay for those.”
I hand her the shoes robotically. “My mom. She’s missing. Did you see which way she went?”
“The woman you came in with?” She sounds like she’s never left the mall.
“Yes. My mother.” I hear how shrill my voice sounds, but I can’t tone it down. WHERE IS SHE? “She has Alzheimer’s. She can’t be left alone. Did you see her leave the store?”
“I did. I… I didn’t see where she went.”
Breathe, Alix. Breathe. “Can you please call security? Tell them to be patient with her. She doesn’t do well with faces she doesn’t recognize.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She races to the check-out desk.
I look back out to the open space. Which way did you go, Mama? I stop thinking and go, jogging through the walkways. “Mama? Mama?” I search through windows. She could’ve gone into any one of these stores. She could’ve gone out to the parking lot. Oh gosh, the parking lot. She won’t think to stop for cars. I stop jogging and full on sprint to the nearest parking lot.
“Mama!” My heart races out of my chest. She’s nowhere in sight. I bolt around the outskirts of the outlet like I’m running a timed mile in high school. “MAMA!” I probably look like a crazy woman, screaming for her mom like a lost five year old, but I don’t even care. I’ll scream louder if it means I’ll find her.
When I make it back to my starting point, I stop and try to catch my breath, and scour anywhere that she might seek refuge. She’s not here. She’s gone. I lost my mom. How could you have lost her, Alix? How do you lose a grown woman?
“Ma’am?” I spin around. A security guard stands with Mama by his side. Tears are pouring down her red, blotchy cheeks.
“Oh thank goodness,” I breathe and rush to her. “You had me so worried!”
“I couldn’t find you,” she cries.
I take her into my arms. “I know, Mama. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“I was so lost. I’m so lost. Where are we? Why couldn’t I find you?” She recoils, and her eyes shift uneasily around us as if everything she sees frightens her.
“Where was she?” I ask him.
“I found her wandering around the fountain in the food court.” He offers a kind smile.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
He nods.
“Where are we?” Mama asks, wiping the tears from her face. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Ma. Let’s go home. I want to go home, too.”
She’s shaking. “Please take me home. Where is home?”
“I’ll take you. C’mon.” With my arm around her, I turn her in the direction of my car. Over my shoulder, I thank him again. When we get into the car I hold her hand the whole way home, and she doesn’t let go.
AIDEN
IT’S WEDNESDAY NIGHT, which used to be movie night for Bridget and me, but since Dean and I rebooted Ballard Contracting, I’m always working too late.
“So, how did Jay take it? You did break it off, right?”
Bridget groans and squeezes in beside me on my couch. “It was a disaster.” She pops some popcorn in her mouth. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s talk about something else. Anything else but that.”
“I kissed Alix the other night.”
Bridget’s stunned expression is exactly what I expected. The only sound in my living room is the background movie menu music that plays on repeat. “How did that go over? What am I asking? Of course it didn’t go over well. If it had, you wouldn’t have mumbled, ‘I kissed Alix the other night.’ You would have said, ‘I kissed Alix the other night!’ with a big, goofy grin on your dopey face.”
I heave a sigh. “Let’s just say I enjoyed it more than she did. Or rather, I’m willing to admit I enjoyed it, while she…is not. She came in to the office this morning and was so uncomfortable I had to pretend nothing happened just to get her to loosen her shoulders even a fraction.”
“I could gloat and say ‘I told you so,’ but I’m guessing that’s not the right answer here.”
I look at her dryly. She aims to appear apologetic, but she’s too pleased with herself to mean it. “Just because she thought it was a mistake doesn’t mean it was or that she didn’t want it.”
“That’s exactly what that means. Aiden, sweetie, when are you going to stop putting yourself into the line of fire? You’re too good for her to be the one repeatedly getting hurt. She’s not worth it.”
“You don’t know her. You don’t know her life.”
“I don’t have to. I know you. I know you deserve more. She’s not ready for you. Maybe someday she will be, but right now she’s not. You need to be with someone who is ready for you now.”
I peer over at Bridget, and she smiles sadly. She rests her hand on my leg and pats it. A flash of something passes in her eyes, but then it’s gone.
“Why can’t life be easy, Bridge?”
“Because then we’d all be bored out of our minds.”
Hitting play on the movie, she nuzzles into my side, and I steal popcorn from her bowl. I don’t know what I would do without Bridget. She’s the one person who knows the worst things about me and accepts me anyway.
“Thanks for being there for me, Bridge.”
She tenses for a fraction of a second and then says, “It’s a rough job, but someone’s got to do it.”
I shove her shoulder off of me, and she laughs. “You know I love ya, Aide.”
“Yeah, yeah. You just love me for my money.”
“Yeah, about that money. When do I get a piece of that? I’ve put up with your shenanigans this long. I feel like I deserve my cut.” I hear the smile in her voice as she shoves more popcorn in her mouth.
I laugh. “I knew that’s what you were after! You’re the reason I don’t touch it. You’ll bleed me dry.”
“Well, someone should get use out of it if you won’t.”
I decide not to tell her. I think I’m making good use out of it. Just because I’m not using it for an extravagant house or expensive cars doesn’t mean my portion isn’t going toward something worthwhile. Toward something that deserves it. There’s too much weight tied to that money for me to enjoy it alone. I don’t deserve it.
ALIX
“WHERE IS IT? Where is it? Where is it?” Mama won’t stop mumbling that phrase today. When she’s not pacing or staring off into space, she’s muttering that dang phrase. I think she’s officially snapped. I know it must be frustrating, that feeling of constantly thinking you’ve lost something or should being doing something, and can’t remember what. Can’t grasp the words you want to say or that there even are words to help us commu
nicate. But I don’t know how to help her. I don’t know what she’s looking for.
“Mama, we’re going to go see Dr. Fallon tomorrow, okay?”
She doesn’t acknowledge that I’m talking to her as she keeps asking, “But where is it? Why can’t I find it?” She continues to pace the living room. “I’m so confused. Where is everyone?”
I’m at a loss for what to do for her. “You don’t have to do anything, Ma. It’s okay. Have a seat. Relax for a little bit. You don’t have to worry about anyone but you.” I try to lead her to the couch, but she pushes my hands away.
She shakes her head angrily. “No. No. No. Why don’t I know? Where is it? Why can’t you find it!” she screams at me.
I. Don’t. Know.
I leave her in the living room and go to my bedroom. I need a minute or I’m going to lose it. My patience is nearly nonexistent. I have to remind myself she can’t help it, but that makes me even angrier. I want everything to go back to the way it used to be. Falling back against my bedroom door, I cry.
“Alix.” Mama laughs. “Stop. Your dad is going to be home in thirty minutes. I need to have dinner ready.”
I’m walking the Cornish game hen down the kitchen countertop. “But it wants to have one last moment to shine!” I say and kick out one of its legs.
“Alix,” she scolds again, laughing and trying to take the hen away from me. “That’s disgusting. You’re going to get salmonella all over the kitchen counter.” She follows me with a soapy wet rag, trying to wipe up the counter.
“What’s disgusting is the fact that these birds still have their organs inside. Dance, birdie!” I kick out the other leg. “Maybe I can perform some voodoo magic and bring it back to life. It’s just missing its head.”
“Hand it over,” Mama says more firmly.
“Okay, okay,” I give in. “But I still think I could have saved it.” I give the chicken back to Mama and wash my hands. “Too bad for you, birdie. You just taste too dang delicious.”
“Did you finish your homework?” Mama asks as she guts the hen.
“Not yet, but I will.”
“Sophomore year matters to colleges, Alix.” She gives me the mom look. “Go now. Get it done, so when Dad gets home we can spend some time together. We only get him tonight. He has to go out of town tomorrow for a week.”
“Again?” I complain. “I feel like he just got back.”
“It’s the way his job works.”
“Well, I’m tired of his job.”
“Me too,” she mumbles to herself. She looks back up at me as if not realizing I am still standing there. “Go. Get it done. We’ll play whatever game you want, or you can pick the movie when you’re done with your homework.”
“Okay, okay. Whatever movie I want?”
She laughs. “Within reason, yes.”
I fist pump. “No take backs!”
“I can’t promise your dad won’t want veto power,” she says.
“Dad would never veto any of my choices! I’m his favorite!” I say as I jog away.
“You’re going to have to stop saying that when Brooks is born. You’ll give the poor child a complex,” she hollers and laughs.
“Won’t change the facts,” I call back and close my bedroom door behind me.
I miss her. I miss her so much.
***
Mama sits quietly as I talk to Dr. Fallon. Sometimes I think she’s so overwhelmed by conversations that she sits there, trying to take it all in, trying to follow what anyone is talking about.
She stopped making sense this morning. The trial prescription stopped being effective. For all we know it was a placebo.
“I don’t know how to help her anxiety anymore. Or her depression. Or her inability to sleep. Or her lack of desire to eat.” Heck, I can hardly even keep track of her. I still can’t believe I lost her. I’ll never forgive myself for that. “We’ve tried to stay at home to keep familiarity, hoping that will lessen her attacks. Even when Gina helps, she comes over to our house now. There’s rarely anyone new coming to the house. We keep a routine. Nothing works.” I peer over at her.
“Do you know where it is?” she asks, peering into my eyes. “Tell me. Please. Where is it?” My heart constricts.
“We’ll find it, Ma. You don’t have to do anything about it now. Dr. Fallon’s going to help you, okay?”
“He will?”
“Yes, of course. We just need to be patient.” I rest my hand over hers.
She nods like she understands and quiets for a minute, but she’ll begin again soon.
“I’ll change her medication back to what she was previously using and give her something more for her anxiety. Should help.” Dr. Fallon takes his prescription pad from his drawer. “If not, I’ll prescribe something different. We’ll work out the dose as needed. See how this works for her. And she might need a stronger sleep aid. Are you maintaining a regular mealtime? Making sure she’s not watching too much TV?”
“Meals, yes. TV…it’s hard when I’m trying to work and take care of Brooks. She’s not just stuck in front of the TV, but she watches it sometimes. Most of the time she gets up. It doesn’t hold her attention. She gets confused and overwhelmed by the plotlines.”
“Try to give her something else to do. Read a book or a magazine. She likes to paint, doesn’t she? I remember you saying that once. Maybe paint with her.”
“Okay.” I nod.
“Also, make sure she’s exercising enough. Maybe do that first thing in the morning with her. She’s not drinking any coffee, is she?”
“We’ve already gone over this stuff, Doc. No, she’s not. And we go walking when we can. When she’s not fighting me on it. I stretch with her. But she gets distracted easily, forgets we’re exercising, and then fights me when I try to continue. I’m doing what I can.”
“I know, Alix. I’m just checking. It’s my job. There’s a lot to remember and keep track of. That’s why you have me.” He finishes writing the prescriptions. “While she’s over two years into her diagnosis, she’s been battling this for longer than that. It’s probably more like three years now, if not more, and I want to make sure we’re keeping up with it, that we’re monitoring its progression.”
Like an arrow sinking into its target, understanding hits me. I can’t be all that she needs anymore.
“Doc?” He looks up at the tone in my voice. I blink back the rising tears. I raise my white flag. “I think I’m ready to look into facilities.”
He nods and offers a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile. “I think you’re making the right choice.”
***
When I check out, the new receptionist tells me we don’t owe anything. “I’m sorry, what?”
“It looks like you don’t owe anything.” She smiles.
“Huh. Do we have a credit from a previous visit or something? We always have a copay.” I know I should take it and run with it. Credit? Score! But I’m very meticulous about her bills and how they’re handled. I don’t want to be blindsided by an unexpected balance because of someone who doesn’t know how to read Mama’s account. We’ve never walked out the door without paying something.
“Umm…it looks like the bills are bring sent to an Aiden Ballard?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
She recoils a fraction. “Aiden Ballard?”
“I heard you the first time. Since when? When was that change made?”
“I’m sorry, but the system doesn’t show me that information. I just see that statements are billed out monthly to him. Is that not correct?”
“Statements of what? Can you print those out for me, please?”
“Of course.” She looks at me strangely like I should be grateful I’m not paying, and while free healthcare is great, I don’t want to be indebted to him. He has no right.
“Will you please direct the statements back to me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she says reluctantly.
“Thank you.”
When I get home I scour the
statements and pull out the insurance EOBs, matching each charge one by one. Thousands of dollars every month for her new medications and treatments. The ones Dr. Fallon said were covered by the insurance—definitely are not.
What did you do, Aiden?
AIDEN
SAVANNAH’S BEEN ACTING weird lately. Not rebellious. Not scheming or secretive. She’s been agreeable and obedient. Answering politely to everything Gran says or asks. Putting her disrespect aside and being playful again. Too perfect if you ask me, but there’s no way I can call her out on it without her snapping, and I don’t want that. We’re finally back to a good balance of banter and sarcasm. And what if I’m wrong? What if my speeches have actually gotten through to her?
Ha. Yeah right.
Which scares me even more. She’s up to something, and I’m not going to know until it comes flying at my face.
We’re only a month away from going to Boston to see Camille. Maybe she’s trying to be on her best behavior so I don’t take that away. Not that I would. If anything, Camille might be able to get through to her better than I can.
I want to talk to Alix about Savannah. She’s a girl. She’ll understand her. But Alix has been avoiding me ever since I kissed her. I keep hoping we’ll get a new client so that I can call her, but it’s been pretty slow for the last few days. I could always make something up, but she’ll see right through my bullcrap. There’s no fooling her. And something tells me Sawyer won’t know what to do with an unruly teenager. Her idea of rebellious is drinking caffeine after midnight.
“You’d tell me if there was something, right, Gran?” I ask as I work on the clogged hoses of their dishwasher.
“Of course, Grandson.” She bends down and kisses the top of my head on her way out of the kitchen.
Man, I hope she’s not lying.
“You get that dishwasher figured out yet?” Gramps comes walking into the kitchen.
